Tales From the Spider's Web
by The Geeky Weirdo
Summary: A collection of Jim Moriarty one-shots ranging from his first crime to his last. To be updated evrey month or so. Now, little fly, come say hello to Jim. Here's hoping you get caught.


**Here's the first one. I've really enjoyed writing Moriarty but his character is new to me so hopefully they'll get better as they go on. This is set before the events of the TV show, when Jim was first braking into the criminal world. Hope you enjoy, remember to R&R!** x

The Killing Type

Jim crouched in the air vent, his young and eager eyes gleaming. They were also rolling. He was a planning man, not a man of action. But even the greatest of things had to start out small. namely, the bank. He had meant to take out a loan for quite some time not but he hadn't reckoned that the reasoning of, "I'm going to set up a major criminal organisation," would have gone down too well with the manager.

So here he was, the spider. In the finery that was his Tesco suit and reindeer socks, going out into the world to seek - or steal, rather - his fortune.

The security system was child's play, some gum and an elastic band and he was in. He'd even had time to fix an escape route at the last minute before closing time. The only bad thing about this plan was that all the air in the damn vent was making his self thought 'gorgeous' hair go all messy. He brushed his latex covered hand back over the short frizz. He should have done a Bond and gelled it back, but the possibility of grease had been just too much to even consider.

_Time to shine._

Young Moriarty set about unscrewing the vent's covering and moved it carefully aside with a small sniff of triumph. Humming along to the Bee-jees in his head he tied one end of a long rope around his middle. The coarse fibers would ruin the suit. But hopefully the material would be thick enough to prevent a burning sensation a cross his torso. Oh, nope. Apparently not. He winced a little in the rising darkness, hands gripping at the taut line.

Someone's_ getting a very strongly worded letter of complaint._

But never the less he was down here now. It was time to get cracking. The spider had a very large web to weave indeed.

"Well you can tell by the way I use ma walk-" the muffled lyrics escaping from Moriarty's mouth were cut of by a small squeal of discovery.

The particular thing he'd discovered was big and squishy and lying between him and the safe behind the desk. it snored and he squealed again. Jim clamped his hands over his mouth and retreated hastily. _What am I going to do? _He took a brave pill and stepped forwards again only to cringe at the smell of Cheesy Watsits and pork pies. Gagging he scrambled away. Thank lucifer the man was a heavy sleeper. Jim creeped forwards gently and approached one more time with great trepidation. He reached out a sly toe and gave him a firm prod. He jumped back but yet again, nothing had stirred the great lump.

_Well, _he thought, _this s just fabulous._

A financial advisor was having a sleep over on the floor and here he was, about to be caught red-handed should he wake up.  
_What if he didn't wake up?  
What if he woke up in a purana tank?_

He reminded himself that he didn't have one of those _yet..._

But still, should he kill the man? No, what was he thinking? Killing was unattractive and got icky blood everywhere. He just wasn't that type of guy. No, he most certainly could not. It would be unmoral.  
He'd just tip-toe around him... sounding like a fairy elephant and... Damn! Where were the keys?

The safe wasn't particularly impressive. it didn't even have one of those spinney dials like in all the good movies. He scowled. So he'd brought that stethoscope for nothing. But, there. In the gloom. A dark, circular splodge on the wall. The mastermind tripped over office chairs on his way over to investigate.

_Please, please, please God..._

Yes, his prayer to a man he didn't believe in had been answered. He pressed his face against the periwinkle blue and felt for the thin metal pin that had been hammered in inexpertly as a make-shift key hook. Got cha!  
Or not...  
The keys were missing! What now? Could nothing go right?

Jim dropped to the floor, jerking his arms over the thin pile carpet in every direction in his frantic search. It was just then, that out the corner of his eye, a faint silver glint caught his attention. His gaze held on the object as if in a trance. But it was half obscured by some other object.  
The man, the lump.  
His face contracted in disgust.

An acidic burn rose up his gullet as the latex gloves containing his hands squirmed under the perspirating fat-folds. Yuch. The job had better pay well. Once the ring was firmly grasped by his fingers he extracted them carefully.

_And he has done it. Jim Moriarty has gone where no man has gone before. And here we all sit today feeling insignificant in the light of this gorgeous being which we shall now adore and worship for- AHHHHHH!_

His eyes widened with horrific realisation. Oh no... The dark mass was shifting. It was rolling over.  
It was rolling over _on top of him_.  
NO! NO! He would not be squished like some little bug! He was Jim Moriarty, the spider. The trap setter.  
The Spider...  
Oh, bug...

He leapt up to crouch but it was in vain. The man collided with his bony knees and sent him back into a pile of papers which were probably very important to someone about something. The only way that they had concerned Jim was with the way the toppled over and crashed into a heavy bin with a proud clang.  
The man's eyes opened with a start. The burglar grinned nervously.

"Hi there."  
It took the advisor a second or so to comprehend his position before letting out a nasally gasp in preparation to shout. _Not gonna happen sunshine.  
_Moriarty leapt forwards, clamping his hands over the man's windpipe to trap th breath in his throat. There wasn't any choice now. His hold on the vile creature's neck tightened, not at all hindered by the dead man's struggle. A satisfactory dent gave way beneath the killers thumbs as the victim's trachea broke.

Five minutes later a small, very nervous looking man was running down the road having swung Tarzan style from a second story window. Bulging Sargent Clanger back pack behind him, it swung with a heavy dip. Jim Moriarty giggled.

* * *

Ella was old and wore excessive make up to try to cover up the fact that she wasn't exactly as young as she'd used to be. it wasn't working. The smell of grease clung about her as she carried out the final breakfast order of pancakes to the young, nice looking man out front. Somewhere in the diner a radio was on and the news reader was croaking away as per usual over the dodgy connection. Apparently the police search was intensifying and the murder investigation at the local bank was ongoing.

'Ongoing.' The word that they use when trying to convince people that they're working on it when they've already long since given up.

Ella fixed the sleeve of her puffy uniform and passed the sugar and syrup cylinders down to the customer.  
"Terrible, all this stuff goin' on, eh?"  
Her accent was squeaky, Liverpudlian. Her breath bore the heavy scent of cigarette smoke.

Jim smiled at the lesser being.  
"Awful. I really don't know what type of person could do such a thing."

**R&R!x Critisisms and all!**


End file.
